Sounds Hollow When Thumped
by hobbitfoot
Summary: If I tell you what character is in this story, it will spoil the end of Sherlock Series 3 for you. And if you've seen it, then you know exactly which character I mean. This is backstory for that character. There are assassins, serial killers, the mob, all sorts of things.


Amelia gave the bread dough one last punch and put it into the bowl to rise. She put the tea towel with bunnies on the top to cover it, and put it into the turned-off oven. She scraped the dough off her fingers under hot water in the sink, dried them, and put her rings back on. She picked up the flour bag, still mostly full, and folded it up. Then she went into the bedroom to get out the baby carrier.

The baby carrier was one of those front backpacks, so she put her jacket on first, a light one. It was a nice day out, real taking-baby-to-the-park weather. She set the pack down in the middle of the living room, and got out the baby's jacket. Then she put the bag of flour in the baby's jacket, and put the whole assemblage into the front pack.

She lifted up the pack, balancing it on her thigh, and got her arms through the straps, and got it fastened. She checked her range of motion, and tugged at the armpits of the jacket to get them free. Then she put her gun into the pack, and practiced drawing it a couple of times. All seemed in order.

She walked out of the apartment, and down the stairs to the street.

Ugh. This park was dull. And it was sort of chilly, sitting here on a bench. She hoped Cory would hurry his act up. Maybe she'd think about what she would buy when she got paid for the contract. Maybe some $500 shoes to wave in peoples' faces. A purse that cost a few grand? Hermes, Prada, something like that? Whatever. As long as it was expensive.

All at once, about half the women in the park turned their head towards the gate. Amelia counted to five, looked where everyone else was looking just for a split-second, and turned her head away again. It was nothing but a man with a toddler. Average-looking guy, not military, not a cop. Oh, that's what all the dirty looks were for, just the fact that he was a man. Amelia laughed to herself. Clearly that man was here with his own child, and here she was with a doll with guns inside, and no one even thought twice about her.

She glanced briefly at the window of Cory's apartment building.

Supposedly this guy, Cory, was a serial killer who killed other murderers. Well, who wasn't? Anyway, he worked for the police, who allegedly had no idea what he was doing. But he had upset the mob. He was killing their hitmen. And since he was in the police department, and presumably had a fairly good idea of anybody local who might be sent to do a hit on him, she had been called in as an outside contractor who was unlikely to be recognized.

Still no motion from the window. But the street door to the apartment building was opening. Yes, that was him. He was carrying a bankers box. It looked heavy, and she'd bet anything it was full of body parts. He didn't appear to be an overly attentive man. Ballsy, certainly, but he didn't seem to watch his back. Someone walked down the sidewalk, passing behind him, while he had his head in the car, and he didn't duck out to face them. Maybe this wouldn't be as entertaining a project as she had thought. But he had managed to get the drop on quite a few other killers; there had to be something about him worth studying.

She gave it five minutes after his car pulled away, and she left the park and went back to her temporary apartment.

Amelia got the front backpack off, and took the covered bread dough out of the oven. It had puffed up and was making the tea towel on top of it pillow up. She greased the bread pan, used a spoon to scrape the dough out of the bowl and into the pan, and turned on the oven. As she waited for the oven to heat, she thought about the best way to go about her task. Cory had killed people. Lots of people, apparently. And the people he had killed had a demonstrated ability to kill others. So, clearly it was best for him not to notice she was in town and not to notice that she killed people. Although he didn't have any bodyguards, or more police protection than an average employee of the police department.

Probably the least suspicious way to kill someone was a fake robbery, so she'd do that. Just another mugging, terrible shame, what a violent city. Tsk tsk tsk.

The oven beeped. She put the pan of bread dough in.

The sun had just set, but it was still light out, the time when it was hardest to see. Amelia suited up with the front backpack and the flour baby and headed towards Cory's most common dinner spot. He didn't go to the same place on the same day of the week, like some people, but the odds were good.

She strolled around the block, back and forth, different sides of the street and different directions, looking easygoing as possible. One woman cooed at the flour baby, and Amelia softly put her hand on the top of its head, and smilingly hushed the woman. This was hilarious. She felt like she might break out laughing.

At last. Today would be the day. There was Cory, up ahead, walking the same direction she was. Yes, walk down that alley, Cory.

Catch up, catch up.

Run non-threateningly, a scuffling, skipping little walk, don't jiggle the fake baby, hold the empty hand up, just so, "Excuse me, sir? Sir?"

He stopped walking and started to turn. She shot him. He dropped as though his strings were cut.

Amelia walked briskly up to the man lying on the ground. His mouth was open in pain. His hands were empty. He was bleeding fast. Yep, that would be fatal enough in a minute. She took his wallet from one trouser pocket, grabbed his belt to roll him to the other side, and took his phone from the other pocket. She checked his jacket pockets, but there was nothing valuable, and she slid his jacket sleeves up to make sure he wasn't wearing a watch. She turned and came out of the alley, and walked away at a nonchalant pace. After she got across the street, she pretended to tie her shoe and threw the phone down into the storm drain. She would empty out the wallet when she got indoors.

Amelia took the streetcar in the direction away from her temporary apartment, then got out and took the bus back to the apartment. She looked out the window at the advertisement on the side of the bus shelter. Yeah, that's what she would buy, a Prada purse. Can't be too rich, too thin or too blonde. Maybe she would change her hair back one of these days, too.


End file.
